


Release

by MaroonCamaro



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Candles, Dom/sub, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda PWP, M/M, Prison, S&M, Whipping, coconut oil, prison era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 08:23:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10433520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaroonCamaro/pseuds/MaroonCamaro
Summary: Rick needs Daryl's help to stay focused. Daryl will do it, of course he will. Daryl will do anything for Rick. Anything. Even if he has to tie Rick to a pillar for his own damn good.Thank you to the lovely and hardworking TWDObsessive for betaing this after a fourteen hour day. And thanks to all my friends in the RWG who are the most supportive bunch of folks you will ever meet.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this was a scene that has been floating around in my head for a very long time and I've just now gotten around to writing it. It's mostly done as a writing exercise for me. Forgive me if it sounds pretentious.
> 
> **TWDObsessive had me change some tags, so if you notice, that's why. She's way better at tagging than I am!

_ Whooot-tssh _ !

The whip slides through the air, the sound of it a balm before the sharp crack exploding against its target overshadows the grace of its dance. A short gasp immediately follows the flick of its tail against sweat slicked skin. And then another undulation along it’s length chased again by the exhalation of its subject.

Daryl steps back and inspects his handiwork. The stripes are shallow. Just barely raised welts that criss cross against lightly bronzed skin. But enough to leave the man tied to the pillar trembling and heaving. 

The room they were in was deep in the bowels of the prison, dark except for the flickering troupe of candles whose flames capered with each ripple of the whip. The refuge found after an afternoon of exploration and decimation of long dead, roving prisoners. 

They were here at this moment because they’d - Rick and Daryl - squirreled away some time. Traded guard duties, runs, and other chores so that they could share a night, share this debauchery, this intimacy, this release.

It had been Rick’s idea. Born of a week of lost time mesmerized by the images of a dead wife. Daryl had slapped him, once, to try and get his leader’s focus back. It had worked.

And then it didn’t. 

The next time took a shove. And then a punch to the gut. 

There’d been an argument, of course. Daryl didn’t want to leave any marks. Didn’t want the same blemishes ruining Rick’s smooth back that ruined Daryl’s. Didn’t want to be like his old man, taking pleasure from pain.

But Rick had insisted. Begged even. He needed it, he explained to Daryl. Needed the sharp cracks and the resulting ache to keep him focused. 

So Daryl found a whip. It was in the bedside table of a man whose house had pictures of the perfect family (carefully made up blonde wife and two kids whose ages could be tracked throughout the progression of the photos around the house) on every wall, a cross in every room, and a bland Toyota in the garage. Daryl hadn’t been a bit surprised.

It was hot this night. The middle of July in Georgia. Even deep within the concrete cocoon of the prison. The closed off space heated more by the candles. 

But the closeness just added to the scene. Making it more surreal, more of a dream. Daryl could let himself pretend that it wasn’t so real, that he wasn’t really thrashing his leader into sanity. 

Wasn’t getting excited seeing the man on his knees, tied to a post, naked. 

Didn’t see the hard cock pressed against the sweat dampened pillar. 

Wouldn’t feel the press against the inside of his pants from his own arousal.

Mentioning it outside the walls of this little room was repugnant to Daryl, a man who’d sworn to never lift a hand against someone he loved. Never in anger. 

Not anger now. Lust perhaps. Duty even. 

Rick’s moans causing Daryl’s breath to hitch. His groin to ache. His hands to itch. 

He wanted. 

Wanted to touch, to ravage, to own. If not in the wide world, then in this little room, at this time. 

One last stripe. Up high, across the shoulder blades. Rick jumps, stymied by the ropes holding him still. 

They’d lost track of time. Not having a timepiece or a window to give a inkling of its passage. Daryl knew they must have been down here for hours now. They’d be missed soon. 

Ignoring the throb between his legs, he set down the whip. It was time to stop. Rick had plenty of marks to remind him of his duties now. 

Daryl knelt by him to release him, but Rick shook his head. He turned and caught his second’s eyes. And Daryl could see the desire, the desperation. Rick wanted more. 

Rising to his feet again and stepping back, Daryl took in the sight before him. Rick, skin flushed, damp, and long marks marring his back. Naked and kneeling, his body open and willing. 

He retrieved the jar of coconut oil that they’d brought from the stores. Hershel had said it was good for cuts as well as...other things. The sound of the lid rotating around the glass jar as Daryl spins it scratches around the room.

Rick blows a long breath between his lips and squares himself up with the pillar, tilting his backside out in obvious invitation. 

Daryl closes his eyes to steady himself. He won’t lie to himself and not acknowledge that he’d dreamed of this since the ill fated trip to Atlanta to retrieve his brother. They’d clicked as they had stalked the dead in the abandoned store.

The coconut oil is cool in his hand, it will feel cold to Rick’s overheated skin, so Daryl lets it sit in his hand for a moment before going back to his knees to apply it. Rick hisses out a long breath, but leans back into Daryl’s soothing hands. The perfume of the coconut mixes with the scent of Rick and Daryl’s exertion and desire. The smell of coconut would forevermore remind Daryl of this moment. 

He resists as long as he can, determined to temper the sting he’d inflicted. Running his hands all across Rick’s abused back, rubbing the coconut oil deep into the wounds. 

But then one particular stripe, the one across Rick’s shoulder blades, looks like it needs more than just warm hands and cool lotion. His lips twitch and then they are pressed against the newly made imperfection. 

Rick whimpers and pushes back, needy. Daryl indulges him and casts kisses like windblown raindrops, managing to visit each welt with at least one touch of his lips.

Head lolling back, loose and relaxed, Rick pleads for a kiss, his eyes doing the talking. And how could Daryl say no?

It was slow, matching the rhythm of the room, dragging lips and nipping teeth. Daryl was no longer in control. Rick, even restrained and blissed out, lead the seduction now.

Daryl’s hands no longer restricted themselves to Rick’s injuries, they skimmed along muscle and bone, hips and chest, nipples and cock. Rick shuddering and pushing into the touch, seeking it’s pleasure.

Not content with Daryl stroking his cock, Rick canted his hips back, grinding them into Daryl’s crotch, pulling a hushed moan from the man behind him. Emboldened, he pushed forward into Daryl’s hand that held his cock and then shoved back against Daryl again. Though he was the one restrained, he was always the leader. Even here.

Abruptly pulling away, Daryl blindly felt around the floor for the discarded jar. Finding it, he scooped out a generous dollop on his index and middle fingers. He hesitated and looked to Rick. But all uncertainty fled in the wake of Rick’s beggard pose. 

Eyes half closed, mouth slack, cock proud and seeking, ass hitched up and knees spread as wide as he could, Rick’s body told Daryl all he needed to know. He was ready, lost in the euphoria of pleasure and pain. 

And sweet Jesus, he was beautiful. Curls damp and dripping, skin bronzed and dappled with candle light, muscles relaxed but firm. Daryl wouldn’t wait anymore. He would accept this gift, this prize, this  _ offering _ . 

He crouched back down and settled against Rick. One hand explored Rick’s taunt muscles along his sides and chest. But the other, the one with the coconut oil, it’s target was lower and secreted between Rick’s legs. Daryl wasn’t sure he was the first, but Rick didn’t balk or act surprised. No. Not with the way he was seeking out Daryl’s hand.

Daryl wanted to tease, to make Rick whine and beg. But how could he when he wanted it more? So, once the rim was slicked up, he plunged a finger in. Just to the first knuckle, but it made Rick gasp and tense.

Baring his teeth, Daryl nipped along Rick’s corded neck to distract him as Daryl crooked his finger and swirled it around to loosen that too tight hole. Rick twitched around Daryl’s intrusive finger, but didn’t expel it.

Soon enough, Daryl had the finger pushed as far as it would go on it’s own. He paused and kissed along Rick’s neck and up to the pouty mouth that sat so perfectly on Rick’s face. Once he captured those sweet lips, he pushed in a second finger, inhaling Rick’s muted grunt. 

His hand was back to stroking Rick’s leaking cock, the organ hard and weeping in Daryl’s strong touch. Rick shudders, and Daryl crows on the inside knowing he is the cause of the onslaught of Rick’s senses.  

Rick whimpers when Daryl pulls away, but Daryl is still fully clothed and his own cock is pulsing with a need he hadn’t known it possessed. He makes quick work of the fly of his jeans and pulls his dick out into the hot and humid air, his breath escaping in a hiss of relief. 

His hands are still slick with coconut oil and he uses it to coat his cock. It’s so easy to align himself to Rick. To plaster himself on that strong back, to let his cock slip between the hard cheeks, to settle in. And Rick relaxes against Daryl like he’d been waiting all his life for this moment.

They stay like that for a moment, sharing their breath, heads touching, committing to what they are about to do. Neither will turn back now. Rick flexing his ass around Daryl his way of insisting they move forward. 

Daryl knows when to follow orders, even unspoken ones.

The room is dim, but Daryl doesn’t need light to find his target. He can feel it, a tiny furnace, a welcome embrace that he needs only to intrude upon the space. Not an intrusion, no. An advance into a new retreat. A place for Daryl, and for him alone.

It feels like the place he’d always dreamed of as a child. Warm and safe. But maybe that’s just Rick. 

Daryl waits. It’s tight. He may have rushed it. Pushed in too fast or not enough time getting Rick prepared.

Rick is still. His muscles rigid. Hissing through his teeth as his body adjusts.

Everything is slow. The candles burn lazily, Rick’s breath is measured, Daryl’s hands flutter from Rick’s chest and down, down, down to his thighs to pause and then trek back up. Daryl waits.

In increments Rick relaxes. His shoulders, his back, his legs. His ass. Daryl feels the change. Revels in it. 

Boots scuffing on the floor as he moves, Daryl’s thrusts are long and slow. Pulling almost all the way out, the flare of his glans stopping just inside Rick, before he lazily pushes back in.

Eyes closed, mouth open, head slanted back, Daryl guides them through their lovemaking. Hands still move restlessly across Rick’s body, lighting occasionally on heat slicked skin before roving for another place to touch.

Rick’s head is bowed forward, resting on the pillar. His body in motion despite his restraints. Ass in synch with Daryl’s rocking hips.

Try as he might, Daryl cannot suspend time. He feels his orgasm growing, the pleasure of the moment making it blossom into a wild thing ready to burst forth.

Knowing it is just a matter of a few more plunges of his cock, he fists Rick’s and tugs it at twice the speed that he fucks Rick. 

He comes, shoving himself in Rick so hard that his hand around Rick’s cock scrapes against the pillar as they both fall forward. His hand doesn’t stop though, not until he feels the warm rush of Rick’s climax.

Chests heaving, they come down from their orgasms, Daryl wrapped around Rick. The room is still, the last of the candles flit out and it’s just the two of them tangled together in body and spirit. 

Rick moves first, pulling his hands free of the ropes that had been wrapped around them. Daryl growls and nips at his shoulder, but complies with the unspoken request and moves away from Rick to sit on his haunches, his cock slipping out with barely a sound. 

Stretching like a cat Rick stands. His shoulders roll as though to assess the damage from the whip marks. Daryl looks away.

Before he can start the spiral of shame and anger, Rick is there. Pulling Daryl to his feet, holding him, kissing him. 

Daryl relents and kisses back. This was right. They needed each other. Tonight. Every night. Every moment. 

They might not ever be back here, tomorrow isn’t promised in the world they live in now, but they could forever treasure the memory. 

And if Rick ever got to the point he needed  _ this _ . This release. Then Daryl would be there. Because Daryl would always be there for Rick.  

**Author's Note:**

> So my goal was to create a mood without using any dialogue. Hopefully I've succeeded.


End file.
